Cheaters Anonymous
by JFassbender
Summary: "So," Erik says as he leans against the counter, drink in hand. "Shouldn't you be upstairs being fucked seven ways from sideways by your drunk-ass boyfriend?" Charles looks at him for a second. "No, I don't think I want to be." Erik's eyebrow cocks. "I could help you with that, you know," Erik tells him. "Yes, I know you can," Charles replies. And then turns and walks away.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Warning for infidelity issues. If you have a trigger for cheating, do not read this story, _please_.**

**Also, I wrote this story like, _months_ ago. We're talking back in November, and I really didn't know where I was going with it, so I may or may not continue, depending on people's reactions I suppose. It's kind of fucked up and has controversial issues in it about cheating, so yeah...**

**Read at your own risk.**

**Beta'd, as always, by papercutperfect.**

"Sometimes, I think about Erik coming up to me, gently pushing me up against the wall, and just undoing my shirt. I never wear button-ups; never worn one in my life. I think I own one — it was probably a gift from Brad—but I've never worn it. In my fantasy, however, I'm wearing one, and Erik's undoing it slowly. He's looking at me. He doesn't kiss me; he just looks me in the eye and unbuttons my shirt."

"Do you not consider it cheating unless he kisses you?"

Charles thinks for a moment. "No, I guess not."

"Okay," Steve nods. "Go on."

"So," Charles says as he runs his hand through his hair. He sits up a little straighter in the metal folding chair. "So, he's unbuttoning my shirt, and looking down at me—he's tall, very tall, and I'm…well I'm kind of short, so — so he's looking down at me, hotly, practically searing me with his eyes. I take a deep breath, probably a shuddering breath, and say nothing. I don't tell him to stop. I don't encourage him; I just breathe." He runs his right hand over his left bicep, leaning over in the chair. "Also, sometimes I wonder what it would be like if he were to…run his hand up my chest? Maybe slide the tips of his fingers over my nipple?"

There's a small murmur from the circle and someone comments, "That's almost crossing the line."

Charles nods. "Yeah, I know," he says in agreement, looking at the person across from him. "But…but…it's still not quite cheating yet, in my mind." He looks down and swallows. "And maybe…maybe he can also…lean down and…and lick one?"

"There we go," someone group gets a bit louder in their murmurs, and another person says, "That's crossing it."

Steve, the group counselor, just puts his hand up to silence everyone. "Okay, Charles," he says as the circle quiets down. "It's all right. Now, have you thought this fantasy through to the end yet?"

Charles looks at his shoes – his "workout" shoes– and swallows. "No, not yet."

"Okay." Steve nods again. "Perhaps you should. Have it all the way through, and then you can share it next time. Get it all out. Remember, Charles, what goes on in your head is in your head only. You can think whatever you want, so long as you don't act on it. We're all here for the same reason, and you know talking about it— not acting on it— can actually help you cope with the urges."

After all, this is Cheaters Anonymous.

Well okay, so the sign on the door doesn't actually say,'Cheaters Anonymous'. It says,'Infidelity Helpers'. But whatever; everyone knows why they're there, and they all know what it's really about.

Not everyone there is a cheater. Some are just there because they want to be, or have thought about cheating, or have _almost_ cheated.

Most of them are cheaters, though.

Charles isn't. He hasn't, yet. He just thinks about it, fantasizes about it. He's afraid he's going to go through with it one of these days. Which is why he's here and not at the gym like he tells his boyfriend.

Three times a week.

Well, okay, he is technically at a gym, the YMCA to be correct; he's just not in the kickboxing class that he told Brad he was taking. Nope; he's down the hall in another room, sitting in a circle with ten other people and Steve Rogers, the group counselor, talking about a sexual fantasy he wants to happen between him and his boyfriend's bestfriend.

How fucked up is that?

But it helps, apparently. Talking about it, that is. Saying your fantasies out loud to a group of likeminded individuals is supposed to help. It's supposed to make you feel as though they were real, as though you've actually done them, with never really going through with them.

Does that really make sense?

Charles is having a hard time believing this. If anything, it's making him want to fuck Erik – or, well, be _fucked_ by Erik – even more.

Not that he wants to cheat on his boyfriend; that's why he's here after all. It's just, well…_fuck_. He's been with Brad for five years now. It's getting old. Charles loves him, he really does, it's just… the sex has gotten boring. To be fucked by the same person, the same way, for five years… Christ. It's no wonder Charles has fantasies about Erik fucking him up against the nearest wall; one hand tight in Charles' hair, pushing his face into said wall, as Erik's other hand holds Charles' hip steady – all the while plowing relentlessly into him from behind.

And it's fucking amazing, it really is.

Well, at least it would be, if it were to happen.

And really, it's at the point now with him and Brad where they don't even kiss anymore during sex. They just fuck. Just get straight down to business. No foreplay, no kissing, no teasing; just fast fucking.

Charles actually prefers it from behind. He tries to think about it being Erik back there slamming into him, gripping his hips, and slapping his ass.

But it doesn't work. It never works. He still knows it's Brad. He knows it's Brad because he's been fucked by Brad for five straight years, and he _knows_ how Brad fucks.

He fucks exactly how he fucked Charles five years ago, when they first met.

Charles doesn't want to cheat on Brad, which is why he's here.

He's trying to convince himself that it is helping.

"Okay, Charles," Steve says with that warm, non-judgmental smile of his. "Thanks for sharing. Let's move onto someone else." He looks around the circle. "How about you, Jennifer?"

"Okay," the middle aged woman says as she leans forward. "So, my twenty-two year old neighbor's out washing his car…"

…

When Charles gets home, he heads up the stairs to the shower.

"How was your workout?" Brad asks him from the couch, book in hand. He doesn't turn back to look at Charles.

"Fine," the brunet replies. "I'm just going to take a shower."

And then Charles is gone.

He tells Brad he works out – kickboxes, whatever – so that the second he gets home he can head straight to the shower and masturbate. He knows Brad won't want to have sex with him if he thinks Charles is all sweaty and smelly.

Brad doesn't like dirty sex; he likes clean, fresh-out-of-the-shower sex.

Not that Charles is going to have sex with Brad after he showers, oh no, he's probably going to go to bed, claiming to be too tired after class to fuck. It works every time.

Sore legs work a charm.

So there Charles is, in the shower, tugging on his cock as he thinks about Erik (_"Remember, Charles, what goes on in your head is in your head only. You can think whatever you want, as long as you don't act on it"_), grunting out short breaths as he closes his eyes. He thinks about what it would feel like to have his cock sucked by the man he wants to cheat on his boyfriend with.

"God, Erik, _fuck_ yeah," he huffs out quietly, hand moving faster. He slaps his other hand against the tiled wall as hot water showers over him. "Yes, Erik, suck my cock, you filthy little whore." His eyes remain tightly closed as he tries to imagine the man on his knees; cock in his mouth, eyes looking straight up at him. _Oh God_.

Charles' free hand travels to his nipple, where he pinches it, his other still pumping his cock. He screws his lids shut even tighter as an "_Nnnhg_" sound leaves his throat. He sucks his bottom lip in and bites.

And he has to does this, he really does. He has to jackoff after these meetings, especially after talking out loud about what he wants Erik to do to him. There's only so much he can take. Just thinking about Erik fucking him makes him horny as hell, let alone saying it out loud in detail.

So if this is what it will take to prevent him from cheating on his boyfriend – him jerking off shamelessly in the shower thinking about Erik sucking his cock – then he'll do it. He'll take it.

Because it's only a matter of time, Charles fears, before he's going to crack and spread his legs like a cheap whore for Erik and let the man fuck him over the nearest table, Brad be damned.

And it doesn't help matters that Erik's pretty much made his intentions clear on how he feels about Charles, too. The _bastard_. Charles figured that out a few weeks after Erik decided to pop back into Brad's life, which was four months ago. (Charles suspects the man was in jail, but has no incriminating proof.) Erik just kind of showed up and turned shit upside down for Charles:

_ Charles sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as shy eyes glanced over to the man in the chair across from him. He looked at Erik. And Erik looked back at him; eyes hooded, intent clear, and a small smile playing on his face._

_Charles sank down a little more into the couch, taking a breath._

_The smile on Erik's face cocked up on one side just a hair and Charles had to swallow. It was a thick swallow, too, goddamnit. Erik then placed his elbow on the arm of the chair and innocently brought his hand to his face, acting like he was resting it there, his pinky finger just slightly touching his bottom lip._

_He smiled wider, and then slowly traced his finger along said bottom lip, all while looking at Charles. And Charles couldn't look away if he tried. His eyes were glued on that finger, and that lip, and the way that it kept softly running over and over the red flesh of the man's sexy mouth._

_Charles swallowed again. And then Erik really made his move: he eyed Charles up and down slowly, eyes seeming to linger on Charles' crotch area before shifting back up to his face. Erik made sure Charles was good and looking at him—at his mouth in particular—before he subtly sucked on the tip on his pinky._

_And then time froze. All Charles could seem to focus on was that finger, that finger that Erik was sucking on lightly (just the tip mind you). That finger that could easily be Charles' cock, if he so wanted. And then Charles dared a glance up to Erik's eyes, those fucking eyes that were looking at him with lust and want and desire. Those eyes that were practically screaming, "You want this, don't you? I want this too. Let's do this. Come on, fuck it; let's do it now."_

_And then reality came crashing back into Charles like a tidal wave: Brad, right next to him on the couch, arm around Charles' shoulders as he laughed at something Raven had said. He was looking over at her and Darwin and Sean and Alex, beer in his other hand. And Charles had a drink too, he's pretty sure. He was more than likely going to pour it on his crotch instead of drinking it though. He looked over at the other people in the room; all of their friends, drunk and laughing and telling stories and jokes and such, all of the shit that drunken people do. He glanced back over to Erik, who still had that look in his eye and that small, knowing smile on his face._

_Erik took a slow drink of his beer, eyes never leaving the brunet across from him, as if he was challenging Charles, daring him, silently telling him: your move._

Charles came back to the present. He was still running his hand over his cock and grunting softly as he thought about Erik's mouth and tongue; sucking and licking him roughly as he looked down at the man.

"Fuck, Erik, _yes_," he bit out.

And then came.

Some sort of undignified groan left his mouth as he watched the semen shoot out of his cock in three hot bursts, landing on the shower floor before being swept away by the water.

Charles took in a shuddery breath, leaning his forehead against his arm, which had found its way back to the tiled wall for support.

Okay, that was good, he did well. He didn't drive straight over to Erik's place after the meeting and let the man fuck him over the couch, like Charles had thought about many, many times before.

He predicts that if he were ever to give in and let Erik take him, they more than likely wouldn't even make it to a bed. Hell, they may not even make it inside – Erik would probably just bend Charles over the railing of his front porch and take him right then and there, neighbors be damned.

And Charles would let him.

…

Friday night rolled around, and Charles knew what Friday night meant. It meant Brad was having people over to get drunk, because Brad works hard during the week and likes to relax during the weekends.

And by relax, this of course means: get drunk out of his skull.

Charles doesn't work hard during the week, because Charles doesn't work. He'd like to. He'd like to go back to school and get his teaching degree. He'd like to be a Professor one day, but staying at his boyfriend's place and NOT working just seems easier.

For the time being at least.

He'll go back eventually, he tells himself. When he's ready.

So Charles really can't say anything when every Friday rolls around and Brad announces that people are coming over and that they're going to be drinking (Like that's news). Not that Charles cares, not really. It's not his house to say no to those types of things.

Well, okay, it is technically Charles' house too—his name _is_ on the lease—but it's Brad who pays all the bills.

But again, Charles doesn't really care, not like he used to, because this also means that Erik's coming over. However, that makes this twofold; one part good, one part bad. The bad of course being that he has to be around the man whom he wants to cheat on his boyfriend with – the man who would help Charles cheat on his boyfriend, because again, Erik's made that quite clear with his _let's fuck until we can't walk_ eyes. The bastard.

The good part is, of course, being around the man gives Charles more fuel for his sexual fantasy fire that is "_okay to have as long as it doesn't result in you acting upon it_." So… yeah. Can't really go wrong there.

Also, it's more than likely that Brad will get really drunk and fuck the shit out of Charles tonight and not even notice when Charles 'slips up' and calls him "Erik" every once in awhile during.

What? It's happened before.

Twice.

Brad's a loud fucker, and not fucker as in mother_fucker_, but fucker as in _one who fucks_. So, sometimes (those two times), when Brad is being really loud – grunting and moaning, carrying on like a fool as he's plowing into Charles from behind, slapping his ass hard and shit like that and possibly even dirty-talking up a storm – Charles groans out a low "_Erik_", just to see what happens.

Nothing happens. It appears to go unheard, every time. Which is great for Charles, because it really gets him going and makes him come shortly afterwards; Erik a fresh memory in his head.

Yeah, Charles likes when that happens.

He hopes Brad gets drunk out of his mind tonight.

…

Brad _does_ get drunk out of his mind, which is great because he doesn't even try and drag Charles upstairs to fuck him. He's too goddamn tired from getting up at 6am. He actually goes to sleep (passes out) early.

And by early, this means around 1am.

Walking (stumbling) up the stairs backwards, Brad looks at Darwin before saying, "You're cool to drive, right? You can take all these drunk fuckers home?" with a big dopey grin on his face (Erik never looks dopey when he grins).

Darwin, who is of course okay to drive – the man needs like a fucking 30 pack just to get drunk, his alcohol tolerance is incredible – looks at Brad and says, "Yeah man. I had like, two beers. But why do I always have to play taxi driver?"

"You're the man, Darwin," Brad shoots his way before stumbling the rest of the way upstairs, Charles _not_ in tow. And Charles hopes his boyfriend doesn't realize his mistake. _Please don't come downstairs later looking for me. Just go pass the fuck out._

"Come on, assholes," Darwin says, nudging Hank and Alex with his foot as the two men continue to makeout like a couple of drunk and horny teenagers (Well, they are drunk and horny, but they're not teenagers, anymore). Raven makes a face, but she knows as damn well as everyone else in that room that'll she be joining in later. Well, at least with Hank anyway. All three of those fuckers have a very complicated thing going on between them. Charles prefers to stay out of it; his lovelife's fucked up enough as it is.

But you already know that.

"You need a ride, Lehnsherr?" Darwin shoots over to the man as Erik pours another drink in the kitchen. (Charles held his breath.) Erik sets the bottle of Jack down on the counter and turns to face his friend.

"Na, man, I got my bike—I'll just crash here tonight." (Charles' stomach flops, but not the bad kind of flop)."I'll ride out in the morning."

Oh, did Charles forget to mention that Erik drives a motorcycle? Yeah, how fucking sexy is that? He wears leather coats, too, and smokes.

Not that Charles thinks smoking is sexy, but whatever, you get the point. Erik's a hardass, and Erik also _has_ a hard ass. Not that Charles would know that—he's never felt it before— but he can just tell, by looking at it.

Which he has.

A lot.

Like, all the time.

So now it's just Charles and Erik; downstairs, alone, and slightly drunk. _Oh boy_.

Charles has the sudden urge to call Steve. He feels as if he _should_ call Steve. (_"Here's my number, you can call at anytime: morning, noon, or night, should the urge come over you."_) He feels like he needs someone to talk him down, yet he makes no move to run out of the room to get his phone.

Fuck it. He needs to learn how to control this, deal with this, on his own. He's not calling Steve.

"So," Erik says as he leans against the counter, drink in hand and smile on his face. "Shouldn't you be upstairs being fucked seven ways from sideways by your drunk-ass boyfriend?" He takes a sip.

Charles looks at him for a second. He too gives a small smirk. "No," he replies. "I don't think I want to be." He stands across from Erik, arms folded over his chest. The taller man's eyebrows shoot up just a fraction.

"Is that so?" He murmurs against his glass with a small smile. Charles just nods. Erik takes another drink and hands his glass to Charles for him to take a sip. "I could help you with that, you know," he tells the shorter man as Charles takes a sip of the whisky.

"Mm," Charles says as he swallows the burning mouthful. He hands the glass back to Erik. "Yes, I know you can," he replies.

And then turns and walks away.

That was a close one.

Later that night however, around 2am, when Charles realizes he won't be getting much sleep that night, he wanders back downstairs. He doesn't know what he is looking for, doesn't know why he is going down there. He knows who is down there; he knows what he is potentially walking into.

He just doesn't seem to care.

But what he doesn't expect to walk into is Erik masturbating on the couch; laid out, cock in hand and tugging away.

Well _fuck_. As if that isn't the hottest goddamn thing Charles has ever seen in his life.

He isn't sure what to do at first, so he just leans against the doorway and watches. And sure, he feels like a gigantic perv, but who cares? It's not like he's going to let _this_ go to waste. Oh _fuck_ no.

Erik works his cock beautifully, not to mention the fact that Erik's cock _is_ beautiful. Charles could suck that thing all day long. He feels his own cock begin to harden at the sight and realizes that he can't take it anymore. He has to get a better view. _Popcorn, please_.

He walks in the room.

Erik, who is lying on the couch and tugging away slowly, makes no move to stop or even try and cover his shame (not that he is shamed, obviously). He just keeps on fisting his cock, looking right at Charles as the other man slides into the room. He smiles at the younger man.

And Charles just _watches_, taking a seat in the chair across from the couch. Both men lock eyes with each other.

"You here to give me a helping hand?" Erik rasps out with a smile, hand still moving along, although it seems to have slowed down now that Charles has made his appearance in the room.

"No," Charles says with a head shake, eyes still on Erik's. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to watch." He starts rubbing his own hardening cock through the thin material of his pajama pants.

"Be my guest," Erik replies with a smirk. His hand starts to speed up again.

"Do you mind if I…?" Charles nods down to his own lap.

"Please," Erik says as he looks to where Charles is talking about, and then back up to blue eyes. "It might help me along."

So there Charles was, half drunk, downstairs, and pulling his cock out to jackoff to the sight of his boyfriend's best friend masturbating. Neither of them felt any shame about it.

Wait until Group hears about this one.

TBC

**A/N: All this shit is made up, I don't even really know if there's such a thing as Cheaters Anonymous, I'm sure there is, or something like it, but I'm just too lazy to Google it. Yeah, imagine my husband finding THAT on my computer's history. Ha!**

**Also, no promises on how this story's going to go, because I don't even know. Next chapter will probably be the last, if people even read this crazy shit.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Summary: "Did you know?" Is the first thing out of Charles' mouth the instant Erik's front door opens.**

**It isn't exactly what he planned to say, but whatever, too late to take it back now.**

**Erik just looks at him, and then, "That we'd inevitably end up fucking? Yes. I just couldn't work out the logistics of when or where."**

* * *

Charles makes it to the YMCA, but not to the room. He's close, just outside the door, that damn "Infidelity Helpers" sign mocking him.

He doesn't need help; he needs to be castrated for fuck's sake.

Last night… last night was bad, a total fuck-up on his part. Not that he and Erik actually touched or anything, but Christ, being in the same room and masturbating with the man has to count for something, right?

Not that Charles thought it was bad at the time, oh no, it was quite hot. Possibly _the_ hottest thing he's ever done. Just sitting there, pumping his cock as he watched Erik working his own beautiful specimen in that large hand of his, his mouth slightly open and breath hitching as he stared at Charles; the intensity of his gaze almost enough to burn.

Erik had come first— and quite messily too— spilling all that lovely white come over his fist. It had been enough to send Charles toppling over, shooting his load more violently than he could ever remember.

Brad had never gotten him to come like _that_.

Charles looks at the sign, and sighs.

Fuck it. He can't go in there; can't tell the group, tell _Steve_, what had happened. He's too full of shame.

Although Charles suspects the real reason why he doesn't go into group today is because the second he tells them all what happened, he'll be labeled as a full-blown cheater.

He didn't _want_ to be a full-blown cheater.

If no one tells him what he did is considered cheating, then it's not.

Right?

Fuck it all. Charles heads back to his car and starts to drive home.

He'll just tell Brad that his kick-boxing class was cancelled or some shit like that. Possibly even tell him there was a death, or a robbery—do people rob YMCAs?—and that all events were cancelled. He doesn't know. He'll come up with it when he gets home.

Charles gets home – really wishing that his neighbor would stop telling her guests that they can park in front of Charles' house – and pulls into the driveway. He takes a moment to rest his head on the steering wheel, debating thumping his forehead into it a few times before he gets out.

He walks up his sidewalk, eyes cast down—still in shame—as he makes it to the front door.

Should he just tell Brad? Tell his lover the truth? That he's attracted to Erik and that he's pretty sure, okay, _one hundred percent positive_, that Erik is attracted to him?

Tell him that they both had a wank in the same room last night, watching each other?

Charles thumps his head against the front door, eyes closing, hand on the knob.

Of course he's not going to tell Brad the truth. What the fuck is wrong with him? Where will Charles live? Brad will throw him out for sure, not to mention kick Erik's ass.

Okay, well, probably not that last part. Charles is fairly sure Erik can take Brad.

God that would be hot, watching Erik beat the shit out of Brad in Charles' honor.

Charles' eyes flew open. The fuck? Where the hell did _that_ come from?

Damn sexual fantasies.

Still, Charles adds that one to his "Spank Bank", for later.

What? Charles is fucked up, he already knows this. What does it matter now?

Once inside Charles debates calling out to Brad, but why bother? He doesn't really want to see the man, doesn't feel like having his lover try and fuck him, seeing how Charles is still clean and not sweaty from the non-workout that he didn't go to, that he _doesn't_ go to.

Wow. That all sounds so very fucked-up.

He drops his non-workout bag by the door and heads upstairs. Brad's probably up there doing whatever-the-fuck he does when Charles is gone these three days a week.

And apparently, "whatever-the-fuck", wasn't as far off from what he actually does.

Which is fuck.

Fuck some guy, in their bed.

Brad is fucking some guy in their bed.

Charles just stands there, shocked, until the whole fucked up reality of it all comes crashing down on him. He's not sure if he should laugh or yell.

Because really, what the _fuck_?

So this whole time that Charles has been going to meetings for cheaters—cheating meetings, he likes to call them—Brad was at home fucking some other dude.

Well, perhaps Brad should join him at his next meeting.

And it really is fucked up because at least Charles was _trying_. Trying _not_ to cheat on the man.

The man who is the actual cheater here.

Finally, like what feels like a whole minute later—which is a long time when you're standing there watching your boyfriend _fuck some other dude_—Brad notices Charles in the doorway.

"Shit," he says. "_Shit_."

Charles just blinks.

Brad scrambles to get out of bed, ignoring the, "Is that your boyfriend?" from the dude he was just nailing.

"Charles," Brad calls out as he manages to pull some underwear on. "Charles, wait!"

Charles decides not to wait. Instead, he turns and heads back downstairs, crosses the living room and makes it to the front door.

"Charles, please," he hears Brad call out to him again. "Please just talk to me!"

Now he does wait, but it's only because he wants to hear the classic: "_It's not what it looks like_!"

But when that doesn't follow: just more cursing from Brad as the man tries to make his way downstairs without falling as he puts his pants on, Charles turns the knob, opens the door, and leaves.

Well. That…that was not what Charles was expecting to walk into at all.

He gets in his car just as Brad—the _real_ cheater of the two—flings the front door open. "Charles, please," he cries out. _Great, he's going to make a scene, and right outside too, how lovely_, Charles thinks as he starts his car.

"Just talk to me, please!"

Charles smiles as he flips his cheating lover the bird whilst backing out of the driveway. It feels oddly good.

"Charles!" Brad hollers out one more time, but Charles just puts his car in gear and takes off down the street, passing the car that he thought had belonged to their—_Brad's_—neighbor.

Heart still beating fast from everything that just happened, Charles, with shaky hands, makes a left turn at the next street. The cell phone in his pocket rings, but like hell he's going to answer it. In fact, Charles fishes it out of his pocket, rolls his window down, and chucks it out.

He didn't like that phone anyway. It had been a gift from Brad.

The next street Charles comes to he makes another left, mind still racing and adrenaline pumping through his veins from all the excitement.

The excitement of knowing just where he's going.

…

"Did you know?" Is the first thing out of Charles' mouth the instant Erik's front door opens.

It isn't exactly what he planned to say, but whatever, too late to take it back now.

Erik just looks at him, and then, "That we'd inevitably end up fucking? Yes. I just couldn't work out the logistics of when or where."

"No," Charles says, looking up at the taller man. "Brad."

Erik shakes his head, obviously confused.

"He's…fucking some other dude." Charles drags both hands down his face, trying to find the right words, before glancing back at Erik. "Brad was cheating on me this whole time. I just walked in on him literally fucking some guy, and I don't even know who it was. I didn't care. I just…left."

"You don't seem that upset," observes Erik. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossing.

"I…I don't think I am." Charles looks down at the concrete of Erik's front porch. "Did you know?"

Giving Charles a dubious look, Erik replies, "Do you really think that if I knew that Brad was cheating on you, I wouldn't have told you _the_ second I found out?"

He had a good point.

Still…

"But you're like, his best friend. What about "bros before hoes"or whatever the fuck gay men are classified in this type of situation instead of hoes."

"First off," Erik says as he comes off the doorframe just enough to pull his pack of smokes out of his pocket. "I wouldn't really classify Brad and I as "best friends", more like friends who have put up with each other's shit for way too long." He lights his cigarette. "Second, Brad's kind of an ass. I don't like the way he treats you and I think you're too naïve to see it for yourself." He takes a drag. "Or maybe it's just arrogance."

Charles' face goes dry. "Thanks…"

"Third," Erik goes on, "I still think it's "hoe" in this situation."

"Perhaps coming here was a mistake after all." Charles turns to leave, but Erik reaches out and grabs the brunet by the upper arm, pulling him closer.

"Don't you dare leave me now, Charles Xavier," Erik murmurs against the smaller man's face, after letting his cigarette drop from his mouth of course. "I finally have you in my clutches and you think you're just going to walk away?"

Erik's breath is hot against his skin, yet Charles shivers.

"I've waited so long for this moment," is whispered into Charles' ear; another shiver surges through his body, and really, it's becoming increasingly difficult to stand. Or feel. Or _breathe_. "And now I'm going to take what's mine, what should've been _mine_ this whole time."

Charles has just enough time to suck in a sharp breath before he feels Erik's lips against his and _oh god, this is really happening_.

The kiss is harsh and needy, rough yet full of passion, desire, and _longing_.

Charles feels his knees go weak, but only for a moment, for Erik wraps his long arms around his waist, drawing the smaller man up and closer to his body. A low groan leaves Charles' throat and Erik growls into his mouth, deepening the kiss as one hand travels up Charles' side to his neck, where it tilts the younger man's face up even more into their shared—and long time coming—kiss.

Charles feels himself being spun around, his back pressed against the brick of Erik's house. Erik places his other hand on the wall by Charles' head, trapping him against his larger body.

Charles whimpers helplessly.

Erik rolls his hips up into Charles; letting the man _feel_ just how bad he's wanted this and, holy crap! They really are going to fuck on Erik's front porch, neighbors be damned!

Also: Good god! What is Erik packing down there? A soda bottle? _Fuck_.

Their kiss finally breaks, both men panting like a couple of horny teens during their first time in the back seat of a car, and Erik dips his head to suck a mark into Charles' neck.

Oh, okay. Apparently Erik wasn't done with him out there. Charles thought for sure they were going to move it inside after that intoxicating kiss.

"Erik," Charles manages to rasp out, right as the man sucks harder. "What…what if one of your neighbors comes outside?"

Breaking away with a wet pop and an admiring look at his handiwork, Erik glances up at Charles. "Then we'll charge them."

Now, normally Charles would laugh here, but he's too _god damn turned on_ to do anything other than moan again, which Erik takes as cue to attack the other side of Charles' neck, mouthing his way down to the brunet's collar bone.

"Oh god," Charles breathes out, eyes closing. He brings both hands up—and where they were previously, fuck all if Charles knows—to wrap around Erik's head, his fingers weaving through hair as he holds the man closer to his body.

With another low growl, Erik breaks away, coming up and smashing their mouths together.

It's sad, really, because all Charles can seem to do is moan and make little pathetic sounds from the back of his throat when all he really wants to do is say: _Let's go inside so we can finally fuck_.

Erik slowly runs a hand back down Charles' body until it meets his cock, where he squeezes.

Charles gasps straight into Erik's mouth, and then pulls away.

He finally finds those words he was searching for.

"Inside. Take me inside, Erik."

Erik complies.

…

"Are you nervous?" Erik murmurs against Charles' skin as he mouths down the brunet's neck and back, Charles already laid out on his stomach on Erik's bed and half naked.

"I'm not even going to try and lie," comes Charles' breathless response. He arches up into Erik more, whose larger body is hovering over his, nearly touching but not quite. Erik places another kiss to Charles' bare back; his shoulder this time.

"I can feel you shaking."

"I told you I wasn't even going to try and lie."

Erik runs a hand down Charles' back again, all the way down until it meets the hem of Charles' boxers. "Don't think we'll be needing these anymore." Charles closes his eyes and takes in a shaky breath as Erik slowly drags the last of Charles' clothes off him.

"Look at you," Erik says softly, running his hand down Charles' ass cheek. "You're utterly perfect." He places his other hand on the other cheek and spreads them, exposing Charles fully.

Charles feels his face heat from said exposure, not even sure if Brad's ever seen him this vulnerable, and why the fuck is he thinking about Brad at a time like-

_Oh_. Charles gasps out sharply, not expecting _that_ to happen. Holy shit, now that's something Brad's never done!

Charles buries his face into the pillow to stifle the next needy sound as Erik's tongue makes another pass. Jesus Christ, Charles had no idea that could feel _this good_. He digs his fingers into Erik's bed sheets and _squeezes_, praying to God that he doesn't come _from this alone_.

Erik's hands grasp onto either side of Charles' hips and he brings them up a bit, just enough to stick his _goddamn tongue_ inside him now. _Oh god_. Charles has never felt _this_ before. A low, guttural sound makes its way from Charles' throat and leaves his mouth— damn the pillow muffling it— Charles turns his face to the side and let's it all out; let's Erik know just what he's _doing to him_.

"Erik," Charles pants, unsure whether he wants the man to stop or _go deeper_. "I can't…I want…"

What the fuck is he trying to say here? He doesn't even know.

Erik, who chuckles deep in his throat, seems to understand incoherent Charles talk, for he pulls back—after licking a particularly long stripe up one of Charles' ass cheeks—and flips the smaller man around until blue eyes are blinking up at him.

"You want me to fuck you?"

A nod, because really, that's all Charles can seem to do at the moment.

"Oh," Erik says as he leans down close to Charles' ear. "I'm going to fuck you." He reaches over to his bedside drawer, opening it and grabbing out god knows what. "I just wanted to get you good and relaxed first."

The sound of the drawer closing brings Charles out of his haze. Erik is pulling back, lube in hand, and smiling down at Charles like a shark about to partake in a feast of saltwater fish.

Wait, sharks don't smile.

Charles gasps as Erik places both hands on each of Charles' thighs after setting the lube down, and spreads Charles even wider.

Oh god, this is really going to happen.

Slowly, Erik frees one hand to start undoing his own pants, and why the man is still fully clothed while Charles is stark ass naked, he'll never know.

It almost doesn't seem fair. If anything it only makes Charles blush more.

Erik is halfway to cock out when his cell phone goes off, both men looking over to the bedside table, and then to each other.

Already Charles is shaking his head no—because he knows, he just _knows_—but Erik has that smile on his face and Charles knows what that smile means. It means: _Oh, I'm doing it_.

Reaching over with his free hand— the other one still pinning Charles' bent leg to his chest— Erik swipes his phone off the table and flips it open.

"Erik, _no_," Charles tries to get out quickly. But it's too late, and the caller on the other end had undoubtedly heard his voice.

_His_ voice.

And if it sounded like it had a moan behind it, well, so be it.

"Yes, he's here," Erik speaks into his phone, not even giving the caller a chance to talk first. "And I'm looking down at his perfect naked body spread out before me. Something you've probably never took the time to appreciate."

"Erik, please," Charles gasps, and of course he didn't mean to gasp. He's not trying to encourage the man for fuck's sake; he's trying to get him off _the damn phone_. He's pretty sure he hears the faint _what the fuck, Erik? Are you fucking serious? What the fuck is going on?_ coming from Erik's cell phone.

But Erik just smiles and leans down, the hand on Charles' thigh moving to Charles' cock now. He grabs, squeezes, and- "Here," Erik says into the phone. "I'll just let you listen for yourself," –starts to pump.

Charles moans, quite loudly too, right as Erik places the phone to his mouth. And he didn't mean to, he really didn't; Charles isn't about petty revenge, but there was nothing he could do, not when Erik was _finally touching him_, finally touching his cock.

Another hitching gasp leaves Charles' mouth as Erik speeds up. The little voice on the other end of the phone sounds _furious_, and rightfully so, but then again, fuck if Brad's angry, Charles was angry when he _walked in_ on him fucking some other dude. All Brad's getting is the audio, not the visual.

It's the least Brad deserves.

Charles is certain he hears Brad's cursing now, calling both him and Erik names that no one deserves to be called, but the phone is getting further away and Erik is still pumping his cock so he really can't find it in him to _give a damn_.

Charles briefly wonders if calling Steve now would be humorous or sad, and why he had that certain thought he'll never know.

He's pretty sure he and Brad are over, if Charles flipping the man off as he pulled out of the driveway was any indication. And sure, so Charles didn't directly speak the words _it's over_, but he's pretty sure Brad got the gist.

So this isn't cheating, right?

Right. No need to call Steve then.

Charles meets Erik's eyes, right as the man himself is bringing the phone back to his ear and— Jesus Christ, so much _yelling_ coming from the other end—speaks one last thing into it.

"Oh, and Brad," he says, looking square into Charles' eyes. The yelling stops just long enough for Erik to finish. "I'm going to fuck him like you never did."

And cue angry yelling again.

Erik snaps his phone shut before chucking it across the room and smiles down at Charles.

"Now where were we?"

Charles takes in a stuttering breath. "I can't believe you just did that." But what he really can't believe is how much it _turned him on_.

"Shh," Erik says as he reaches for the lube, applying a liberal amount to two fingers. "Brad deserved that and you know it."

Well yes, if Charles is to be totally honest with himself-

_Whoa_. Charles bites back a moan as Erik's fingers twist in deeper, and good thing the man licked him so well, or that may have been more of a shock.

Erik takes his time in prepping, Charles learns, for nearly three whole minutes go by and Erik's fingers are still working their magic.

"Erik," Charles gasps, head tipping to the side, "please."

The taller man just chuckles. _The bastard_. "Please what?" He twists his fingers in and out effortlessly.

"Please-" and now Charles is panting, head thrashing side to side as Erik digs in deeper, and really, _the utter jerk_, what _is_ he trying to accomplish here? "Please fuck me."

With a wet pop—and _god_ that was so obscene—Erik removes his fingers. "I thought you'd never ask."

Charles wants to laugh; he really, really does, because why in the blazes would he ever have to _ask_ Erik to fuck him? Erik _knows_ Charles wants that cock inside him, has to have known for a while now.

In all reality Charles should be _begging_ Erik to fuck him.

"_Please_, Erik," he says again and-

Oh, looks like he's begging after all. Very well then.

A low growl comes from the man above and Charles takes that as conformation that Erik _likes_ begging.

So he does it again.

"Please, Erik, please fuck me; fuck me so hard."

"Damn it, Charles," Erik has to bite out. He grips the brunet's thighs harder, spreading them. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say those words."

With barely a breath, Charles says, "You have no idea how long I've wanted to say them."

And then it happens: Erik enters, pushing his cock in with ease and both men moan loudly.

_So this is what Heaven feels like_, Charles has time to think.

And then the thrusting begins.

Erik doesn't hold back either, and Charles can hardly blame him. After weeks— or was it months?—of them tip toeing around each other, flirty touches here, sexy looks there, Charles just wants Erik to ram his cock in him so hard and deep that he loses his mind.

And he pretty much does, for now Charles is being fucked up the bed, moving inch by inch every time Erik releases another one of his powerful thrusts and _god it feels so good_.

"Erik," Charles groans out quietly and…oh yeah, he can finally say that for real this time. "Erik," he says again, much louder and throatier than before. No more taking it from behind and pretending Erik's the one back there; he's got the real deal finally.

Erik's snapping his hips and pinning Charles to the bed, sweat dripping down his face and onto Charles below and Charles is positive he could do this every day for the rest of his life and never grow tired of it.

"I used to say your name in bed," Charles gets out around all his panting. He looks straight up at Erik, the man looking back down at him, still fucking like an animal. "When Brad was shit-faced I used to call him Erik." A harsh pant. "When he was fucking me."

Erik just leans down and presses his mouth to Charles', probably to shut him up. Charles doesn't blame him; the man more than likely doesn't want to hear about Brad, or all the times he's fucked Charles, even if Charles did call the man by Erik's name.

When Erik pulls back he buries his face into Charles' neck, panting harshly. "Say my name _now_."

A swallow, and then, "Erik."

"Louder."

"_Erik_."

Erik growls again—and if Charles wasn't so used to that by now he may have been frightened—and fucks Charles even harder, to the point where Charles can _feel_ the man's balls slapping against him. It's all wet skin against wet skin.

God they'd make a great porno.

Moaning like…well, like _he's always wanted to_, Charles wraps his arms around Erik and pulls him closer to where they're almost one big body of motion.

That motion being fucking of course.

Erik comes first, grunting as he fills Charles to the brim. He pulls back just in time to look into blue eyes as he does. Charles keens out some sort of sound Brad had _never_ pulled from him and with the help of Erik's hand—and when did that get down there?—comes next, coating his stomach and much of Erik's fist.

They lie there in the aftermath: the twisted bed sheets, the sweat, the come stains, the _no longer_ shame, and neither of them speak, not for a good minute at least.

Slowly, Erik pulls out, his cock still heavy and covered in a white sticky mess.

Well, looks like Charles wasn't shitting when he said Erik filled him to the brim. In fact, he can feel some of Erik's juice leaking from his sore ass now.

And it feels so good.

With a heavy breath Erik kisses his way up Charles' chest and neck until they're face to face.

"Was that how you expected our first time to go?"

Looking up into ever changing eyes—they appear to be dark grey as of now—Charles just replies, "Better."

So Erik kisses him again.

…

"So now what?"

Erik looks over at his bed partner. Neither of them have much to do that evening, so why the fuck bother to get out of bed? "What do you mean?"

Rolling onto his side to better see the man who just _fucked the living daylights_ out of him, Charles trails a finger down Erik's toned bicep. "I mean: what now? Now that Brad knows we're fucking. Now that I'm pretty much homeless…"

"First off," Erik says as he brings his arm around, pulling Charles closer, "I don't give a shit about Brad. Truth be told, when I came back into Brad's life after being gone for so long I really had no intentions of sticking around." A sharky smile appears over Erik's face. "That bastard had a couple DVDs of mine that I wanted back. That's the only reason why I came over that day." He rolls onto his back and glances up at the ceiling. "But then I saw you and everything changed."

Charles doesn't say a word, doesn't even breathe; he just waits for Erik to go on.

With a sigh, Erik looks back to the brunet. "I saw you and I thought: how? How is Brad so lucky? How did he get someone as amazingly good looking as you?"

"You didn't even know me, though," Charles put in quietly.

"It didn't matter." Erik shook his head. "The second you laid those baby blues on me and that brilliant smile, I knew I was a goner."

"Erik…"

The taller man rolls over and captures Charles' mouth in a kiss.

"Shh," he says after. "Just trust me: I was a goner." A pause. "Still am."

Charles licks his lips. "You can have me." It was just a whisper. Erik's eyes sear into his.

"I don't think you understand what that means, Charles." He runs a hand down the other man's body from shoulder to hip. His hand rests heavy there.

"What…what does that mean?" He's still whispering.

Leaning in even closer to where their mouths are near touching, Erik tells the man, "I'll never let you go, Charles. You'll be mine forever. I worked this hard to get you, and I'm not going to lose you."

A hitching breath leaves Charles. "Deal."

And they seal it with a kiss (plus one more round of vigorous fucking).

END


End file.
